Reasons
by Kassie of Fandom
Summary: There are reasons John Watson makes Sherlock feel like maybe he can actually bring himself to love, truly love, another person. Reasons with history and emotions the detective has never really been familiar with. But they are something he finds he doesn't mind nearly as much as he thought he would. Sociopath. As if. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! Here with a Sherlock fic that is basically a product of my end of season three feels. Pain. So much beautiful pain. So I needed something fluffy. Therefore.. this. Anyway the chapters are gonna be really short because each reason will be a chapter but that pretty much means I'll upload multiple chapters at once. I tried so hard to get into Sherlock's head but we all know how hard that is. I tried my best, so if you have any suggestions, please let me know. And as always, review pretty please 3_

_On with the show!_

_-_**Reasons**

There are reasons John Watson makes Sherlock feel like maybe he can actually bring himself to love, truly love, another person. Reasons with history and emotions the detective has never really been familiar with. But they are something he finds he doesn't mind nearly as much as he thought he would. Sociopath. As if.

1. This has, and always be the main reason. John finds Sherlock brilliant, almost to a fault. And even though it's easy to see sometimes John gets irritated with his deductions (and usually it's only the ones the doctor would like to avoid seeing the truth in) it never changes that he finds Sherlock and the way his mind works absolutely remarkable.

They are standing outside in the rain and Lestrade is standing with them.

"Double homicide," he says. "Male and female. Married. Appear to be strangled. But the house was locked up and there are no visible means of entry. No weapon was found either. Both in completely separate sides of the house." He looks up at Sherlock, hope obvious in his eyes. This is a reason Sherlock actually doesn't despise Lestrade as much as the rest of humanity. The DI believes in him, trusts him. But it is not the almost child-like awe he sees in John's eyes whenever he solves a crime. As they enter the home Sherlock takes everything in at once like a sponge of science. His eyes are everywhere and John can practically see his mind working.

"The woman didn't die here." He says, looking over her body.

"What do you mean? No one moved her. Swear." Lestrade is bent over slightly, watching Sherlock deduce.

"I didn't say they did. I'm simply saying she didn't die here." He stood and, with long strides made his way through the house and ended up in the kitchen. "She was killed here, approached from behind." There is a half made dinner sitting pathetically on the counter. "But there was time, she was killed first and the murderer," John could swear there's always a tint of happiness whenever Sherlock says that word. "Must have gone to kill the husband before coming back and dragging her to the bedroom. But why?" Lestrade didn't bother trying to answer, knowing the question had not been directed at him. Sherlock is quiet for a moment before he makes his way to the opposite side of the house where the husband lay, face up, in the living room.

He is crouched over the body for less than a minute before he stands back up.

"Who called it in?"

"The neighbor... She said the lights had been on all night but she didn't see anyone moving so she was worried." Sherlock nodded.

"Long fingernails, blue nail polish?" Lestrade brightened a bit.

"Yes. How did you... never mind." His question cut off by the look on Sherlock's face.

"I though so. You should probably arrest her, she's the killer." He points out a speck of blue nail polish by the husband's collar and some fingernail imprints/scratch marks just under his ear. "It appears she used the strap of a leather purse. As for entry, she has a key."

Not too much longer do they find out that, of course, he was correct. Some of the couple's DNA had been found on the strap of her handbag and the key to her neighbors house in her pocket. As they put her in the car she yelled something about the couple "fighting too loudly to have a proper night's sleep." And then she was gone. And while Sherlock is thoroughly disappointed in the case, not having lasted an hour. He is pleased at the praises he hears escape John's lips. Remembering whenever he's been told off by people for his deductions this is the one man who sees only the genius in it and never (almost never) condemns him for it. The feeling that this gives the detective was originally a foreign one. The warmth in his chest and the smile he always tries to fight. But by now it has become a welcome familiarity. And it is only one of the reasons he loves John Watson.


	2. Chapter 2

_Fair warning, this is cliche as I don't even know what. But I don't care it's adorable. I can just see Sherlock struggling with trying to understand it. P.S. For anyone reading my Shadowhunter fic, it should be updated within the next few days. I was on vacation from work and then I went to Warped Tour and then back to work. So yeah, I've been a bit busy. But I'm still working on it and it'll be up soon. And as always, please review! 3_

_**Reasons**

2. John has always been the human side Sherlock has never had. Whether it be his compassion or general insight as to how humanity feels, there is a completeness that John brings to Sherlock's life. John is a whole person but without him, Sherlock knows he is not the full image of a person. To him it is always John and Sherlock and he loathes when people never realize how important John is to him and The Work.

It is a Monday and the doctor is late home from the hospital. Sherlock is not one to pace. Well, not in worry anyway. It's something he finds himself doing when pondering a case but lately he's find himself doing it much more when John is away. The man's shift had ended nearly an hour ago and it didn't take him that long to make it back to the flat. What had held him? Sherlock checked his phone for perhaps the hundredth time and was yet to receive a message. It was raining so the chances the doctor had chosen to walk home were absolutely zero. Just as the detective was about to don his coat and follow him, the door slammed open, revealing a very soaked doctor with a large (and soggy) cardboard box in his hands.

In an attempt to hide his relief at John's safety, he merely questions, "What in bloody hell is that box for?" John merely glances at him for a moment before returning his attention to the box.

"Sherlock, before you make a fuss please realize that I had to do it." The tall man's curiosity is piqued and watches closely as John gently places the box on the floor. He is quiet for a moment, studying it's contents.

"Please tell me that is not what I think it is." John nods and removes his coat.

"It is and don't give me anything about it because I saved it's life and it's staying here." He runs back and grabs a towel before carefully removing the soaked kitten from the box. Sherlock watches, half amazed as John gently towel dries the thing.

"You honestly picked up a kitten off the street. An army veteran that couldn't bare to see a cat out in the rain. It's almost funny." John glares at him.

"Sod off. It would have died and no one else even noticed it was there. The kitten is nearly dry now and John holds it out for Sherlock.

"Certainly not." He has no patience for animals.

"Come on, I have to change I'm completely soaked. Just for like two minutes." Sherlock sighs and gives in easily, taking the kitten awkwardly in his hands as John heads towards his bedroom. He holds the furry creature at eye level for a moment, steady blue eyes meeting large frightened dark ones. It is only in this moment Sherlock realizes he has never held a kitten before. He pets it on it's head with a single finger a few times, trying to take the fear out of it's eyes and holds it closer to his chest. When it begins to purr, Sherlock goes still. He sees John is still in his room and brings the kitten closer, so it's partially laying against his chest and thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe, animals aren't so bad after all. They're already much better than humans seeing as they can't talk and that cuts back sufficiently on the amount of stupid things that could be said.

So when he notices John coming down the stairs he turns slightly away. He can tell John has stopped and is watching but gives no notice. By this point the small creature has fallen asleep on his legs and he makes no move to put it anywhere else. There is suddenly a hand on his shoulder and Sherlock looks up to see John smiling down at him, happiness and some other unnamed emotion in his eyes. Something Sherlock has seen before but never directed at himself. For some reason this brings the warmth into his chest again and he tolerates John's hand on his shoulder, maybe even leans into the other man a little. Not that he would ever admit it. But John's body heat is pleasing and he's glad the man brought the kitten to the flat. John is compassionate, something Sherlock doesn't really understand. But it's another reason he finds that he loves John Watson.

__And enter adorable kitten that will be mentioned in a few more parts of the fic. I kinda want to name it science because I can see Sherlock telling John to buy cat food and yelling "It's for Science John!" Ahhh that would be great. But I dunno, I don't think John would allow that. Anyway we'll see where it leads, anyone with a name for the fuzzy beast is welcome to leave suggestions in the reviews (hint hint) 3_


	3. Chapter 3

_So hi! I'm back with Reasons chap 3. I honestly don't know how long this is going to run on for. Just until I run out of fluffy ideas I guess. Anyway it's getting hard to actually word the reasons into a sentence. Like, the love they have more or less goes without words but I'm trying. So here we go, and as always, please review! :D_

_-__**Reasons**_

3. Sherlock is always right when it comes to matters of fact and fiction. He doesn't generally care for opinions (especially others) because lets face it, to have an opinion on something usually means wasting a lot of unnecessary time becoming familiar enough with something unimportant to care one way or another about it. This has caused quite a few arguments between the detective and his blogger. For instance, John doesn't care for Sherlock's tendency to leave body parts in the refrigerator. ("Well where else am I supposed to put them?" "Anywhere as long as it's not next to the bloody eggs!") But this has not stopped him from doing so.

It's been a few days since John has rescued the half drowned kitten (that Sherlock may like a bit more than he'd ever let on) from the streets of London and he wants to discuss naming it.

"Why do we have to name it? It's not a person. It's just a cat. Call it cat."

"We have to give it a name Sherlock." The creature of interest is lying on the couch at this point, quite disinterested in the conversation. "If you don't give me any suggestions I swear I'll start calling it Anderson." This earns the doctor a glare from the detective.

"To hassle such a name onto the creature would be deplorable. Although I suppose they have a similar amount of intelligence." He glances at the kitten which yawns and turns away from him. "Point made." John rakes a hand through his hair, getting more than a little irritated.

"For Christ's sake Sherlock! You have to at least have an opinion!" The tall man is quiet for a moment.

"No not really. Unless." He brightens. "Let's name it Science!" And almost instantly he can see the rejection in John.

"No. Absolutely not." There's a flicker in his eyes that tells Sherlock that John is amused to see him throw out a suggestion like that.

"Why not? It's something we both enjoy is it not?" He really doesn't care one way or another but there is a odd enjoyment to be found in teasing (although he loathes to use this word it's really the only one that would fit) John in this manner.

"Fine. Whatever Sherlock, you win." From the lack of tension in his shoulders, the detective could tell John wasn't making a huge sacrifice.

"Well than, you really should be off to the store John. We don't have any cat food. And we need some. For Science!" And the look on his face tells Sherlock that maybe having an opinion on small things might be worth it.

Or perhaps not.

"SHERLOCK WHAT IN THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY BEDROOM?!" Ah he had been waiting for that. But he gave the doctor no mind as he stormed down into the kitchen of the flat. "Seriously. What the fuck? What gave you the right?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that! Would you just, put that down and look at me for a moment?" Sherlock sighs and sets the steaming beaker down on the table.

"This is time sensitive, what is so important?" Oh perhaps he's pushed too far. John's heart rate has increased and his face is turning red.

"Time sensitive? Are you kidding me?" The detective stares at the beaker for a moment.

"I suppose." He proceeds to pour the entire thing on the floor. A hissing sound follows along with some green smoke. When it clears, there is a new rut in the floor, the liquid having eaten away at the tile. John throws his hands in the air.

"Honestly what was that for?! Mrs. Hudson will have a fit." Sherlock ignores this and turns back to the doctor.

"Now, what is the big deal you've insisted on screaming at me about?" John's face has turned red again and his hand has stopped shaking. Interesting. He's honestly contemplating punching something, although Sherlock really doesn't worry about it being himself.

"My bedroom you tall git. Everything is gone. Everything. My clothes, books, even my mattress! What have you done with it all?" Oh right. He assumed he'd eventually have to explain that.

"I actually set fire to your mattress a few hours ago but I assume that's not the major issue here." The shock in John's eyes actually takes the anger away for a second. But only a second.

"Set fire to my...? Why on Earth would you do that?"

"Because you don' need it. I've moved everything else into my room. I think it's better that way. It's my... opinion." By this point the detective had walked away from the doctor but the shorter man is quiet for so long he actually feels obligated to turn back around.

"Your... opinion. Into your room. Why?" John's voice is quiet. The anger is gone but his heart rate has skyrocketed. Sherlock can see the pulse point on his neck going erratic.

"Yes. You were too far away. When you demand I sleep, which is far more than necessary by the way, I do so much better when I know you are around." He says this simply because it is. A simple fact. When John is in the flat, Sherlock can relax as much as possible for him. When John forces him to bed after three days because an unusually complicated case has kept him awake (the maid, honestly how didn't he see?) it's only when he knows for a fact that the doctor isn't leaving the flat that he can sleep. Bodily functions, as much as he wishes he could will them away, are something he must deal with and having John enforce them makes it a bit easier.

"But... that means's we'll be sleeping together." The near blush that Sherlock sees him trying to fight is oddly endearing. "As in, the same bed. And you're alright with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be? It's you John and for some reason you make things different. If you like, we can move Science's bed in there as well. It will be like a party." Small jokes, John is fond of these and it diffuses the tension that had suddenly appeared in the air.

"And all because this is your opinion? You know that's not quite right. Normal people usually discuss opinions before moving bedrooms." The tall man shrugs.

"John when have I ever put off the notion of being normal?" The doctor smiles.

"I suppose I'll allow this overbearing opinion of yours." Sherlock gives no reaction because he knew John would have no real issue with this. Regardless of however "not gay" John says he is, he is in a much similar situation as the detective finds himself in. With each other, everything is different. Exceptions are made. John is Sherlock's exception, the only major one he has ever really allowed. And this is yet another reason he finds he loves John Watson.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys! Sorry for the bit of absence. I've just been busy with work :/ But I promise I'm still working on this! It won't be much longer, maybe another chapter or two but for now, here we go with chapter four!_

-Reasons

4. Sherlock can't put words to this one and that almost worries him. He's always been well enough at describing situations and putting things in layman's terms for everyone else. But he feels this one well enough regardless of the simplicity of words.

Since the beginning, when John shot the cabbie, it has been an obvious thought that he will never let any harm come to Sherlock. And the detective feels this same sort of protectiveness towards his blogger, even if it isn't as obvious. John had wondered, prior to The Fall, if Sherlock really worried about his general well being. But when he returned and John learned the true story (true enough anyway) there was never a question left.

And now they sit in a hospital staring at one another, one in a bed and another in a chair pulled relatively close, wondering.

"This is all your fault." Sherlock states simply. John merely scoffs.

"I don't see how, you're the one that did what you did. I would have been fine. But you had to overreact like a drama queen. Again, I might add." The detective rolls his eyes and doesn't see fit to respond. In reality it's only partially John's fault he's ended up in this damned hospital but he doesn't see a real need to point this out. The case had started out simply enough. A serial kidnapper, leaving naught but the victim's cell phones at the place of their abductions. They had been heading into day three when they caught the bastard red-handed ordering a woman into his car.

"Really though, it is your fault. Lestrade had set up a barricade not a fifty meters down the road, there was no way he could have escaped." John shakes his head.

"Well if a certain _someone_ had told me that, I probably wouldn't have done what I did now would I?" John (not knowing there was a police barricade just down the road) had jumped in front of the kidnappers car in a rash attempt to stop the man. Sherlock knew (as he always did) just what kind of man they were dealing with and that a simple meddling human in the road would do little to stop him. And because John had made that foolish choice to jump into the road...

"You know..." John's voice is soft now. "If you hadn't pushed me out of the way our roles would be reversed right now."

"I am aware of that." Sherlock's voice is flat, missing (or more likely ignoring) the emotion in John's.

"Sherlock I'm serious. You pushed me out of the way and because of that he hit you instead of me. Why would you... I mean what even possessed you to..." John's voice has risen in tone. His frustration and guilt towards himself pouring out in misguided anger towards the detective in the hospital bed. Said detective is silent for a moment before he realizes what John actually needs to hear.

"John. It is not your fault." This only earns him a glare from the doctor.

"Don't feed me that crap line Sherlock. You've been saying it since they put you in the ambulance. 'It's your fault John.' " The doctor uses air quotes to try to push his point across although to the curly haired man, it's already quite clear. "And damned if I don't know it is!" John rakes his hands through his hair. "I was stupid. If I had stopped to think for one god-forsaken second it probably would have occurred to me that you had already said something to Greg. But no. I had to stick my goddamned neck out. Fuck!" He's pacing at this point, not even realizing he's left his chair.

"John you shouldn't yell at an injured man." The look of absolute shock this statement receives almost makes the pain from laughing worth it. Broken ribs (on top of his other injuries) were such a pain. (No pun intended.) There is anger in the doctor's face now and Sherlock figures he should probably make it right before the other man's blood pressure got too high.

"Listen to me. It was quite noble what you did. And you did help to save that girl's life. Any injuries on my part are nothing next to the fact that she lives because of us. And I suppose..." Sherlock schools his features into something that just barely resembles shame. "It was bad on my part to not inform you of the barricade." It is quiet for a second. And then a minute. John's sudden laughter nearly startles the other man.

"Oh I bet it hurt to say that lie." He's still laughing and Sherlock can see he has forgiven himself for the most part. "You don't have to lie to me to make me feel better idiot. Although I suppose watching you say that was healing within itself." He is smirking at the bed-ridden detective who has in turn scowled at him

"This is what I get for trying to be a friend." John just rolls his eyes. At this moment a nurse comes in and proceeds to administer the next round of medication regardless of Sherlock's loud (and quite rude) protests.

"You can go home soon." She says to John quietly. "He'll be asleep in ten minutes." John nods and observes the detective for the next few minutes, watching with amusement as the man tries to fight off sleep.

"Dammit John... plotting against me. You and that... damned nurse. " In a few more minutes he is asleep, head lolled to one side and lips slightly parted. John stands and draws on his jacket, ready for the drive home. Sherlock's injuries were nothing terribly serious and he was going to be released sometime tomorrow.

Just as he was about to walk out the door, he paused, realizing that this would be the first time in nearly three months that he would sleep alone in bed. Since Sherlock merged their bedrooms he had made a point to actually sleep (for at least an hour or two) a night with the doctor at his side. John turns back and walks over to the sleeping detective. He stands there for a second feeling admittedly foolish before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the other man's forehead.

"Goodnight Sherlock." As he begins to walk away he hears a whisper.

"If you don't think I'll remember that when I'm fully awake than you're sorely mistaken." The doctor merely grins and makes his way out of the hospital room.

-_Later_

Sherlock lies in bed thinking about the only thing his drug addled mind will allow. John. The man he saved from being his by a car. The man who just kissed him goodnight (as ridiculous as that sounds he can admit it was an oddly endearing thing) and the man he had shared a room and bed with the last three months. John's physical presence is a very comforting thing. One of the few things on this earth that can ease the detective's over-active mind. And despite the added effect of the hospital drugs, Sherlock finds he has a very tough time falling asleep.

And when he wakes sometime in the early morning and finds John asleep in the chair next to his bed, head resting on the edge of Sherlock's mattress, he is overcome with a strange urge to repay the other man. Carefully he leans forward in his bed and presses his lips to John's temple and whispers a small "Goodnight." He lays back in the bed feeling utterly idiotic when he hears John.

"If you don't think I'll remember that when I'm fully awake than you're an idiot." Sherlock laughs.

"That's not a direct quote." John moves a bit closer and lightly takes Sherlock's hand.

"I don't care. Leave me be I'm trying to sleep." The detective tolerates the hand within his own and finds himself falling back asleep as well.

Not many things in the life puzzle Sherlock Holmes. But his love for John Watson is definitely one of them.

__Tadah!_

_I know Sherlock is a (more than a) little out of character in this one but bare with me. Since our favorite detective isn't exactly romantically inclined I had to change him up a little for this to work. Anyway I'll update sooner this time I promise. And as always, please review!_

_With much love, Kassie_


	5. Chapter 5

_Yes this is super super short but there's a reason I promise. It's because I needed a lead up for the next chapter. No worries!_

**_Reasons_**

5. Something has changed within Sherlock and he can's quite pinpoint it. Perhaps it's because of the way John has been tending to him since he left the hospital. Perhaps it's because of the nurse telling him that his boyfriend had fought with her in the middle of the night to come see him and she had finally let him in when she realized how desperately he needed it. Perhaps it's because when he begins to fall asleep he can feel John take his hand and check his pulse as if constantly needing to reassure himself that Sherlock was there and had not in fact, died after being struck by the car.

But something has changed.

There is a new softness in the way he watches John, an almost tenderness in his view and the detective can't make any sense of it. He can see John worrying incessantly about him. It would be suffocating if the taller man didn't know he was bringing it on himself. The more he noticed about John, new things like the smell of his cologne complimenting the scent of his shampoo or how cold his hands tended to be, the more he withdrew from the other man. It had been a little over a week since his release and he had started sleeping on the couch because he couldn't deal with this new influx of nearly human emotions.

Sherlock was spending a lot more time in his mind palace, trying to deduce what was going on within him. To give words to an impossible situation. And he found that he kept coming back to one particular question.

_Is this love?_

__End_

_So warning, next chapter is the last one. It's finally come to an end. For now.._

**StarOfTheSeaaa - **_Thank you so so so so much! I'm trying so hard to stay in character with them and you saying that made me feel a lot better about it cuz I was really worrying._

**viridianaln9 - **_Thank you!_

**xx-butterflyofthenight-xx -** _I appreciate the praise! That's the way I imagine Sherlock thinks of John most of the time, like a steady pulse._


	6. Chapter 6

_Alright guys, this is the end. I promise this isn't the only Sherlock fic I'll be writing, much more to come from this one. I love the pairing far to much to limit them to one short fluffy fic. All your reviews have meant so much to me and that's what keep me writing. And on we go._

_**BONUS CHAPTER**_ -John

It's been two weeks since Sherlock's been released from the hospital and for the most part he's pretty much healed. John had persuaded him (and that's phrasing it very very nicely seeing as he had practically barricaded the door one night) the detective had stayed in the flat for the most part, waiting to fully recover. For the past few nights though it's seeming that the man had held a grudge at the doctor for keeping him in longer than necessary. ("Honestly John I'm fine. You worrying about me like a cagey housewife isn't doing me any good."

"Sherlock, it still hurts you to stand I'm not letting you take any strenuous cases! And that's it! Besides I've talked to Greg and he's not filling you in on anything either so let it go and for once in your life try to relax!")

The tall man has been sleeping on the couch, leaving John to toss and turn in a bed that feels far too large without the annoying git in it. And when he arrives home from the hospital that evening that's where he finds him, stretched out on the couch one arm dangling off the side and the other half wrapped around Science that has curled up on the man's chest. John represses a laugh, unwilling to wake the man and after removing his coat and shoes creeps closer to snap a picture on his phone.

"John?" The voice is groggy, still half asleep.

"Didn't mean to wake you." He's moved to the kitchen having decided to make himself something to eat but after seeing the human hand sitting in the bottom of the refrigerator he's decided that perhaps he's not that hungry after all.

"You're late." John glances at his watch and notices that he is, in fact, late. By a half hour.

"Hadn't noticed. We were a bit busy today." Sherlock is quiet but John doesn't move. After a moment he brings himself to ask the question that's been at the forefront of his mind.

"Why... Why have you been sleeping in here?" The detective's eyes flash open and John almost has a hard time believing the man was ever asleep. His stare is a bit overwhelming (as it always is) and the doctor can feel himself being read like a book.

"You miss sharing a bed with me." Fighting the blood that seems to shoot into his face he acts as if Sherlock never spoke.

"I mean, you've been sleeping on this couch for three days now. It honestly doesn't look that comfortable."

"It's not." Sherlock gently picks up Science and sets her on the couch as he sits up. John still has a hard time believing how the man has taken to the cat. He's caught the detective explaining things to the creature as he worked. There is a silence that follows. John's question still sits unanswered and he refuses to ask it again. He knows the taller man is keeping him waiting for a reason and for now, he'll play along.

Their eyes meet and the silence in the room seems to intensify. _What have I done wrong?_ Is the real unanswered question and he knows Sherlock knows that. _What can I do to bring you back to me?_ It seems that this one time, the detective looks away first.

"John please understand that I'm not used to people... looking after me the way you do. Mycroft has his way about it but honestly if the fat lout didn't talk to me ever again I'd be marginally happier in this life. I can solve the simplest of crimes in mere minutes. I can chase after a car in the pouring rain. I can go without sleep or food for days on end and feel none the worse about any of it. But you John. You change everything. You're the one thing that can confuse me. Your emotions, your words. Everything about you that in anyway involves me. For the first time in an exceptionally long time, if ever, I really don't know how to handle things.

I understand I am less than what most would define as human but you make me feel things that fall into that category. I thought I was above love. That petty, selfish, jealous emotion derived by chemicals in the brain. I, logically speaking, understand it. I should be above it. But I'm not. Not with you. And that's where I stand on this moment. That's why I've been sleeping on the couch."

There is silence after Sherlock's soliloquy. And though, in no way does John understand why the detective is sleeping on the couch, he's learned a great deal more than he was expecting when he asked the question.

"Sherlock. Are you... Are you trying to tell me you love me?" The pause after that sentence is heavy. And only grows more so as it extends on and on far past the point of comfortable. John is fidgeting as he waits for the other man's reply.

Science has sat up on the other end of the couch and it seems she too is waiting for a reply from the detective.

"Perhaps." Sherlock rakes a hand through his hair before meeting the doctor's eyes again. Eyes that feel impossibly wide after just one word. "I'm not familiar enough with the feeling to tell you certainly that it's love but I'm inclined to believe that would be the proper phrasing of it yes." The sentence is spoken so calmly because to the detective it is one of simple fact. To John, it's a sentence that has changed the entire world.

A cinematic-like flashback seems to come over him as he remembers every time someone, be it Mrs. Hudson or anyone, had thought he and Sherlock were a couple. How he had denied the rumors and tried to end them with a simple, 'I'm not gay.' Which was true, for the most part anyone. John had never looked at another man the way he looked at Sherlock Holmes. Hell, to be honest, he had never looked at another woman the way he looked at Sherlock bloody Holmes. Through all his years, his tour in the military, he had never laid eyes on anyone, or anything, as beautiful and as terrifying as the man sitting before him now. The man that had brought him peace within his life. The man that made that life worth living when in the past he had questioned that very notion.

And now that man sat before him telling him, in not so many words, that he loved him. And that's when the first smile appears. A simple that is followed by laughter. The detective looks startled at the outburst from the doctor.

"I seem to have missed a joke." John shakes his head no, still shaking with laughter.

"Sherlock you _**idiot**_." He stands up from his seat and walks over to kneel in front of the other man and takes his hands, pleased when the detective doesn't pull away. "Yes. Sherlock. That's love. I guess you found your human side after all. And with just a second of hesitation, the doctor breaks the distance between them and finally introduces his lips to Sherlock's.

It's a quick kiss, John knowing all too well that Sherlock might very well pull away from him and when their eyes meet afterwards he's pleased to see a spark of amusement in the taller man's eyes.

"That wasn't awful." John laughs not minding in the least the awkward phrasing of the other man's words.

"Well at least that's a good thing." Science moves over towards them and nudges her head against their entwined hands, purring softly. "And for the record, I might as well tell you that I love you as well, though you've probably already deduced that." Sherlock's eyes soften.

"Whether I had or hadn't there is a certain quality to hearing you say it." John smiles and stands, softly ruffling the detective's hair, ignoring the way the other man smacks at his hand.

"I hope this means you'll actually be sleeping in bed tonight instead of this damned couch." The detective simply smiles in return.

**-One Week Later**

That tall git. If he thought he could parade him around London in the rain on a wild goose chase for some scarf he had officially lost his mind.

"Sherlock it's pouring, we'll catch cold."

"Nonsense." The detective shouted back at him.

"Sherlock I swear I'm going back to the flat." This stopped the tall man in front of him, who turned to stare inquisitively at him. "No, no. Don't you give me that look. It's freezing and it's raining and has been for two days. Do you honestly think anyone would be out in this, serial killer or otherwise?"

"Well if I needed to hide a weapon, well of course I'd think of a much better place but that's beside the point, I would hide it in this weather because no one would want to go out in it to search." He resisted rolling his eyes at the man.

"Yes. That's the point. You. No one else would do that. They'd probably double bag it and leave it in their garage until they had a clear night to bury it on or toss it in the sodding garbage! Honestly Sherlock." The detective stared at him for a minute.

"John, besides the obvious tired, wet, and cold going on here, something else is bothering you. What is it?" John tried to keep his face expressionless despite knowing it would most likely fail.

"Ah, I see. Well you head on back to the flat John. I'll return eventually, do me a favor and put a kettle on would you?" And with that he was running again.

"Wait! You idiot wait! What do you see?" Sherlock stopped for just a minute to yell back.

"Everything." And he was off. John curses under his breath for a minute before taking off after the man. And after about a half a mile when he's caught up to the detective, standing still on the corner beneath a light post he asks again.

"Seriously, when you said everything, what did you mean?" The man in question is staring up at the sky, oblivious to the rain pouring down around them.

"Everything John. You and me and this," he gestures widely with both arms. "The serial killers and the kidnappers and the flat and Science. The past, the present, the future and us. Always us." John is silent, arms wrapped around his torso in a vain attempt to keep warm. "There's you and me and there's the world John. We are not part of that world. But we intervene to fix problems, to solve to reason and to justify. We are on our own and we are alone but we are together." John holds his tongue again, this being the first thing Sherlock's said about their kinda-maybe-romance since the kiss a week ago.

"Understand John it used to be me and the world. I was alone. And I was content. I took cases and solved them. I did my experiments and my equations. Everything made sense. But I'm not alone anymore. You were alone as well but you found me and you shot the cabbie and everything has fallen into place since then. Now it's us. And when I look at you and say everything I mean that I see that you're determined to stay with me but you need me to prove to you that I understand what I say when I use the term love. I didn't once. But believe me when I say I do now. Only by watching you show it to me in everything you do could I recognize it within myself. You and me and the Work. John that IS everything." Sherlock smiles once, and begins to run once more.

John has never been one to run. He prefers to walk, to take his time and sort things out. Running is impulse decisions and while he has quite the track record with them, when things get complicated he will always walk. But as his feet begin to move without any real command on his part he realizes all too well how Sherlock is the exception. Sherlock is the man that makes him run, the man he will run for. The man that makes running feel almost like flying.

_I literally cried at the end of this because I'm a loser and this is the first fanfic I've ever finished and I didn't want it to be over. But it's done and I'm really happy with it. Keep an eye out because the next fic may come sooner than you think._

_With love, Kassie_


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